


close as strangers

by 80stenbrough



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Close as Strangers, Lots of Angst, M/M, One Shot, Reddie, Songfic, Stenbrough, bill is trying to get over stan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 09:37:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12702207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/80stenbrough/pseuds/80stenbrough
Summary: every night i'm losing you in a thousand faces,now it feels we're as close as strangers





	close as strangers

_six weeks since i’ve been away_

_and now you’re saying everything has changed_

“he killed himself, didn’t he?” beverly said dully. “oh god- poor stan.”

bill lost his voice. all of the air was pushed out of it. he wanted to- he was hoping that he’d- bill wanted to see stan again. he’d hoped that maybe… maybe stan would give it another go between them. richie looked over at bill in concern as he gripped his fork in his hand and tried not to cry.

stan couldn’t be dead. not the stan bill knew. stanley uris is a beautiful, strong, and brave man. stanley uris, the organized boy with the halo of curls that were _always_ getting to his eyes, could not be dead. he couldn’t. stanley uris, _bill’s_ stanley uris, could not die.

 “a-are y-yuh-you j-j-juh-ho-hoking?” bill’s voice cracked at the end. he hadn’t done that since he was fifteen. bill felt like he couldn’t breathe. eddie stuffed his inhaler in bill’s mouth, pushing the trigger frantically. everyone was looking at him as his throat cleared up. his face flushed a bright red, the room seemed smaller, caving in on him

 “no. i’m sorry, bill.” the first tear fell.

  _and i’m afraid that i might be losing you._

 after the dinner, bill pushed his way outside. his breath was slowly becoming more and more uneven, to the point he gripped his arm so tight his knuckles turned white. he stopped at a bench near the library and sat. with trembling hands, he dialled the landline mike had given him.

 a few dials.

 several more.

 “hello?” a woman’s voice sounded. it wasn’t stan’s. it was…

“hi. i-i’m bill denbrough. is stanley there?” neither spoke about the wobbly, crying voice on bill’s end of the line.

_and every night that we spend alone_

_it kills me thinking of you on your own._

 day four since he got the news. 

when he got to be alone, fully alone, he sobbed. he cried and cried and cried until he couldn’t cry anymore. the memories of him and stan flooded and muddled and consumed him like a truck. the i love you’s, the small touches stan always gave him, the nicknames. oh god, the nicknames. stan didn’t use them much, but when he did, he had bill’s whole life in his hand. he still does.

a few dials.

several more.

 “uris residence,” it was stan’s voice. it was- stan- that’s his boy’s- he sounded so- bill couldn’t breathe. “we cannot pick up the phone at the moment,” still mature. still sophisticated. still _stan._ “please leave a message after the beep.” a monotone beep.

 "stan… s-stan your voice. oh my god. it still sounds…” sniff. wipe of tear. _keep it together, bill._ “like you. you always said it sounded like r-ruh-red,” he smiles sadly, remembering how stan associated colors with intangible things. “it sounds pretty lilac to me. it sounds lilac, pale yellow, and a-ah-a-aquamarine all at once. it sounds beautiful. i bet all of the money in the world you were still as s-suh-st-tunning as you were when we were kids.” _were._

  _and i wish i was back home next to you._

 day fifteen.

 they did it. they killed it. bill was driven to avenge georgie (and stan). he was tired and exhausted… but couldn’t stop calling stan’s landline. he did it everyday, no matter how stressful the day was. he called stan. he called stan, in hopes that one day he’d hear more than the twenty second voicemail. he called stan because he still loved him.

 a few dials.

 several more.

 a monotone beep.

 “stan?” his voice cracked in exhaustion. “we… we did it. we killed it. it… it got eddie.” he wiped his tears, thinking of the little germaphobe. he would never admit this out loud, but he missed eddie. he missed him a lot. “richie was so heartbroken, y’know? he tried to do what i did, and get him back. he succeeded. only for the short amount of time eddie was… here. i like to think i would’ve. would i?”

 he couldn’t stop crying.

 “i miss you, i love you, i hope you and eddie are doing good up there. in richie’s words… have a few chucks for me,” he cracked out.

  _oh, everyday_

_you feel a little bit further away._

_and i don’t know what to say._

 day thirty.

 bill never went back to london.

 everything seemed to drift. the days he spent at derry seemed like a dream, felt like an idea he couldn’t grasp on to but he knew was there. bill felt that derry was distant, just another memory to forget and seal into a box. the only thing that didn’t drift was stan. stan’s entirety plagued his mind… bill wouldn’t forget. not this time.

it’s like it didn’t want him to forget. it wanted him to stay suffering by the constant reminder of stan. that fucker pennywise intentionally kept stan in his mind, kept stan to harm him. it was it’s last punch into bill’s gut. the final blow, the one that’ll hurt the most.

a few dials.

several more.

a monotone beep.

“i am so in love with you, did you know that? i hope you did. i still do. you… were everything to me. i shouldn’t have left derry all those years ago. maybe i’d still have you. maybe… maybe we’d still be arguing about your blazing blush or me being too over dramatic or us just being stubborn in general. maybe we’d still be as stupid as we were and take several years to ask to marry.” bill smiled softly into the phone. “please…” he was whispering now. “please come back to me.”

_are we wasting time?_

_talking on a broken line_  

day three hundred forty six. 

bill hasn’t given up. he looked forward to the twenty second voicemail. bill poured his heart out everyday, whether it was how much he missed the man or about his day, he called. _stan was going to answer one day, and you’re gonna miss it,_ he told himself. bill knew stan wouldn’t pick up.

a few dials. 

several more.

a monotone beep.

 “why won’t you pick up? please, please pick up. i need you. i need your bird rants because i said a species wrong, i need your tomato face whenever i called you darling, i need your hands holding mine, i need you complaining whenever i made you wear something that wasn’t khakis and a button down. what did i do? if there’s anything i can do to bring you back,” he gulped. “p-puh-please tell me.” bill’s voice cracked.

  _telling you i, haven’t seen your face in ages._

 day four hundred fifteen.

 “this line has been disconnected.”

 “no… no, no, no,” he whispered. “no! no! no! please! no, please, don’t fucking do this to me,” he was yelling now, hot tears flowing down his face. he cradled the phone up to his ear, pressing as hard as he could. “stan? stan! stan, stan,” bill repeated in a mantra. “i need stan. i need to talk to stan. i need stan!” the man collapsed on the floor, dry heaving and unable to stop himself. it was the final straw.

stan was gone.

  _i feel like we’re as close as strangers._


End file.
